


emotional infidelity

by thunderylee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon Universe, Established Relationship, F/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-29
Updated: 2005-05-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 01:56:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12854256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: Hermione comes to terms with her unhappy relationship.





	emotional infidelity

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck.

Ron Weasley is, in short, girl stupid. I suppose I should have known this from the beginning – in fact, I did, yet I kept telling myself that it would go away as he got older. Unfortunately, it only got worse.

We’ve been together since we were sixteen. “I think I love you, Hermione,” he said, in the middle of one of our usual rows. I was too shocked to reply, but I didn’t have to; he kissed me and I melted.

We didn’t have much time to be alone, what with the war and our studies. When we _did_ miraculously get a moment to ourselves, it was spent snogging like there was no tomorrow. There very well might not have been a tomorrow back then. Harry was training to face Voldemort in the inevitable Final Battle, and we were all very aware of the stakes.

Harry.

Don’t get me wrong, I love him like a brother, but Ron has always placed him above me. I know they’re best mates and all, and I shouldn’t be jealous, but I was. When Harry wasn’t training, sleeping, or playing Quidditch, he was with us. He ate meals with us and studied with us. He spent all of his free time with us.

The thing that bothered me the most, I figured out, was that Ron _talked_ to Harry. They talked about everything under the sun and then some. Ron and I didn’t talk. We argued, yes; we snogged, yes; but we didn’t _talk_. That should have been my first clue, honestly, but I was too blinded by what I thought was love to see it.

Two years later, we’re still together, although it’s more out of convenience than anything else. Voldemort is dead, the wizarding world is at peace, and Ron and I are together. Harry has a flat down the street from us. He “came out” not long after the Final Battle, and despite the many boys that pop in and out of his life, he still makes time for us – Ron, specifically.

I think I didn’t see it before because I didn’t want to. I briefly wondered why he never tried to make love to me, accepting my own reasoning that he respected me and wanted to wait until we were married. We never talked about marriage, though; we never talked about anything.

“Hermione,” he says, jerking me out of my thoughts. “We need to talk.”

I frown. _Thanks for making me contradict myself,_ I think bitterly, but all I say is, “All right.”

We sit down and he turns to face me, placing both of my hands in his own. “I need to tell you something important,” he says hesitantly, refusing to meet my eyes.

“Go ahead,” I prompt.

He clears his throat, much like he does when casting a spell. “Before the Final Battle, Harry came to me to say good-bye, in case he didn’t make it.”

I nod. Harry had come to me, too. It was probably the first and only time he ever spoke to us separately.

“Well,” Ron continues, “he went on to tell me how he fancied blokes, because he didn’t want to die with that secret.”

“You’ve told me this,” I say, faintly recalling Ron’s lack of shock when Harry initially “came out.”

“Right, but I never told you the whole story.” He exhaled sharply. “He said, ‘I know you love Hermione, but you should know that I love you.'”

He raises his eyes to finally look at me and I feel my jaw lower slightly. In his dark blue orbs, I see it all: longing, wanting, remorse. I see what I’ve refused to see for the past two years; maybe longer. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had long ago accepted the idea that Harry might fancy Ron, but I kept telling myself that Ron was straight and with me. Now, however, reading his eyes, my doubts are confirmed.

“Do you love him?” I ask matter-of-factly, willing my emotions not to surface.

“I think so,” he admits, the corners of his mouth turning up in a sheepish smile.

“How long have you felt that way?”

“Since the moment he told me.”

I sigh and force myself to return the expression. “Go to him, Ron.”

“What about you?” he asks sincerely.

“I’ll live,” I assure both him and myself. _I’ll have to_.

He kisses me on the cheek before he walks out the door and out of my life. “I love you, Hermione.”

The door closes and I fall against it, forcing back tears. “I love you, too.”


End file.
